


Skillsets

by Prosodi



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: M/M, No Spoilers, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-01
Updated: 2012-02-01
Packaged: 2017-10-30 11:16:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/331165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prosodi/pseuds/Prosodi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harvey and Mike are good at what they do, even if what they do isn't the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skillsets

Mike does something stupid. Mike does a lot of stupid things because he's smart but sometimes lazy and tends to trust his own judgment more than anyone else's, experience be damned (he's smart, he thinks - who else has a memory like his? That gives him an edge on top of everything else, doesn't it?) But just because he makes stupid decisions doesn't mean they're always completely out of left field - because he is actually smart and not just a parlor trick for Harvey to show off around the firm. And sometimes stupid decisions lead to good decisions and those lead to good work.

He's somewhere between step two and three when Harvey corners him, gets close and asks, "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

And Mike wants to say "Trust me," but that's not really an answer to give your boss, especially since he's not actually really sure yet. He has a loose idea, a general plan, is working on instinct and feels he's going in the right direction here but - well, that's kind of stupid, right? He tries to explain, doesn't feel like he says much and feels dumb so he just keeps talking (bad habit) and then he must talk himself in a spiral or something because suddenly Harvey's posture shifts slightly and the look he's getting is a few degrees more calculating, thoughtful. Mike tries to figure out what he just said because it must be something right.

He doesn't figure it out then, but he must repeat it to himself at some point because something clicks and he goes 'Oh, right,' and digs around for the right information that sinks the prosecution.

 

Harvey has principles - or, you know, whatever you want to call it. Obviously they're not the standard set (he did, after all, hire a stoner with no degree, much less a law degree, as his associate), but that doesn't mean he's completely immoral --

\-- maybe principles is the wrong word for it. Sensibilities, maybe. Because Harvey isn't an idiot. He doesn't make stupid mistakes (not usually) and he doesn't do things that would compromise the high standard of productivity he's come to enjoy. Stupid things like, say - speaking in hypotheticals here - becoming involved with anyone inside the firm. And definitely not becoming involved with Mike, especially not when Mike is drunk in the backseat of a shared cab, handsy and withdrawn at intervals: Mike invades his space, but sits with his hands clamped between his knees. Harvey helps him up to his apartment saying, "We need to work on your alcohol tolerance." A good lawyer can drink with clients. A good lawyer doesn't let his associate's hands rumple his suit's lapels.

"Thanks," says Mike about twelve times on the stairs, and twice again at the door as he fumbles with his keys. Harvey is a half second to taking them away from him and finding the right key himself when he gets it and the door swims open. "Thanks Harvey. Thank you. For, you know, everything. You should come inside," Mike says.

Harvey has had a few drinks. He's buzzed to the point that everything looks a little sharper and the darkness of Mike's apartment seems especially deep compared to the light in the hall. Mike's eyes are very clear; he keeps licking his lips, doesn't seem aware that he's doing it. Harvey is though - aware.

"Go to bed. I don't want to hear you complain about a hangover in the morning. I have a six hundred page disposition for you." Harvey tells him firmly. He leaves him at the door.

 

Mike's ruse, his sham degree, is almost discovered. They slip past by the skin of their teeth. They don't usually leave the building at the same time, but they do that day. It's late, almost three in the morning, and Mike has spent the whole day avoiding Harvey. They ride down in silence. Mike's hands are shaking; he bashes the button for the ground floor and then grips and tugs at his messenger bag's strap. Harvey stares hard at the elevator's display as the door slides shut. The elevator lurches faintly, heads down. Harvey has a pounding tension headache. He has spent all day not thinking about how close he was to losing his job. Before the elevator reaches the lobby, he looks sideways. He means to say something biting and sharp, Don't ever do that again, or maybe even I'm not covering for you again if you screw up, but Mike's face is pale and his mouth his hanging open slightly. He looks exhausted and strung out on anxiety.

The elevator reaches the lobby. The doors slide open. There's a chime. By that time Harvey has Mike backed into the corner of the elevator, has kissed him once on the mouth. Mike looks at him strangely, stares, then kisses him back roughly, grasps at his tie and starts to fumble for the buttons on the door panel. Harvey catches his wrist and forces his hand down and says, "Not here." Mike makes a pitched noise against his mouth then, "Damn it, okay."

Harvey straightens his tie. They go. Mike leaves his bike locked up out front.


End file.
